


Nocturnus Ludicrum

by CharlieMads



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: And all the 'duties' that go with the role, But admittedly vague plot, Could be vaguely considered non-consenual voyeurism, Explicit Language, Harry Loves Eggsy, Harry as Arthur, Harry the morally grey, M/M, Masturbation, POV Third Person, PWP, Porn With Plot, Post KSS, Suggestions of Harry being a tad oblivious, but has done jack shit about it so far, but only if you step outside of Arthur needing to review missions, but only slightly - Freeform, not TGC compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 23:47:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15035951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieMads/pseuds/CharlieMads
Summary: Harry wakes feeling too hot, breath too fast as he surfaces abruptly. He can’t remember the specific details of the dream he’s just been ripped from, but as he blinks into consciousness he knows exactly who he was dreaming about, and isn’t surprised after the events of - the night? Last night?Harry indulges after a mission unexpectedly turns into Eggsy's first honeypot and he chooses to review the footage.





	Nocturnus Ludicrum

**Author's Note:**

> So...I've been trying to write. I've actually been writing, lots, to the tune of about 20k words total across seven stories, just not Conjunctio Fiet (where I am as stuck as stuck can be, in the middle of chapter 10, and have been since my last update,), and nothing else I've started has ended up finished. Except, this. Apparently, it turns out I can quite easily knock out less than 2500 words of what is essentially self-indulgent masturbation fic, but anything with proper plot can take a hike. I would say FML, but finishing something (anything!) is a definite win right now.
> 
> I've tagged for possible non-con voyeurism, but I don't personally think it crosses the line massively. For anyone not sure whether to read on, Harry essentially reviews a mission that he doesn't *need* to review, and then uses the memory of what he's seen and heard for his own pleasurable purposes. In context, Eggsy would be well aware that the footage would be reviewed as per Kingsman policy, and that would include Harry potentially watching it. That said, I felt it crossed the line sufficiently to tag it for anyone who may have an issue with that kind of thing, so...
> 
> Please, please, PLEASE, kudos and comments would be really gratefully received, because I need all the external motivation to write I can get if there's to be any chance of finishing anything else. My brain is also considering the possibility of a companion piece to this from Eggsy's perspective of the mission, because there are hints in this that would allow for exploring his feelings about Harry. You know, the ones that my Harry consistently seems to be oblivious to.
> 
> The utterly uninspired title *should* translate as 'Nocturnal Interlude'.

Harry wakes feeling too hot, breath too fast as he surfaces abruptly. He can’t remember the specific details of the dream he’s just been ripped from, but as he blinks into consciousness he knows exactly who he was dreaming about, and isn’t surprised after the events of - the night? Last night? He has no idea what the time is and doesn’t care to look, his bedroom dark enough to tell him that he has more sleep ahead of him if he can settle once more.

The ache in his groin is acutely insistent, enough so that with over three decades of experience he knows the quickest way to deal with it would undoubtedly be to act rather than ignore. And the truth is he wants to, had actively had to resist the urge once arriving home, despite still being half hard from his last task as Arthur for the day. Merlin had all but openly told him not to review the mission, but they’d both known he would anyway, the real reason hidden beneath excuses of duty and protocol, that Arthur was expected to review all the files. It was true, to a degree. He watched a significant number as the job required, and needed to know at least the gist of those he didn’t, the how of parameters being achieved (or occasionally not), but he’d already got that from Eggsy’s written report earlier in the day.  _Intel was obtained via unplanned sexual intimacy_. Watching the video taken from his glasses feed had been an utterly inappropriate, personal indulgence that fell entirely on the wrong side of morally grey. One that had left Merlin muttering ‘for fuck’s sake, Harry, just do everyone a favour and shag him already’, shaking his head even as he tapped at his tablet to send the file directly to Harry’s server. In his limited defence, he'd never, ever claimed to be a good man, only a gentle one.

Throwing back the covers, he slowly palms over the stiff line of his dick through his pyjama bottoms. It’s far from the first time he’s masturbated to thoughts of green eyes and a dimpled grin, but it is the first time that he’s had factual substance to influence the experience. His mind’s somnolent wanderings have left him fully hard, fabric tented obscenely and a small damp spot already formed where the tip of his cock is trapped pointing up towards his belly. Had he not woken hard, Harry’s certain he would have instead eventually woken up sticky and spent. The truth is that he’s had more ‘nocturnal emissions’ in the six months since fully recovering from Kentucky than in his thirties and early forties combined, he thinks, inhaling deeply through his nose as he rubs the heel of his hand up and down his turgid length.

Eggsy’s first, albeit unanticipated, honeypot had been an unmitigated success operationally. The original plan had been to insert himself as a potential business partner, gain access to the mark’s phone to plant the tiny download transmitter by typing in his cover’s fake mobile number on the pretence of being slightly tipsy and unable to recite it, but not so drunk that he couldn’t tap it in himself. The difficulty had been that the mark - Edward Jensen, a not unattractive man of Harry’s age, with dark hair and brown eyes - had left his phone in his hotel suite for the night, and although interested in Eggsy’s spiel regarding tech shares, he very clearly hadn’t been interested enough to leave the bar and retrieve it. Not that many people with his intentions would be, though. Observant and astute, Eggsy had quickly worked out that Jensen might not be willing to get his phone, but he was very clearly looking to take  _someone_ up to his room for the night. They had already known the man was gay before going in, so he had done what any good Knight would in that situation; smoothly switching gears, he’d simply ensured that the someone would be him. Lingering looks, leaning in to show interest, a hand to the subject’s forearm - it had been a subtle, expertly crafted seduction, sufficiently coy to appeal to his ego but blatant enough to infer he was experienced. There had been a mirror running the length of the bar, and Harry had felt the first stirrings of arousal as he watched Eggsy’s reflection repeatedly swipe a hint of pink tongue over his lower lip and glance up at Jensen through his lashes over the course of a properly made martini.

Giving himself a firm squeeze through the fabric, Harry recalls the soft, slick sounds of Eggsy kissing. He focuses on the sounds he’d heard rather than the way he’d looked purely because most hadn’t been forced. Jensen had clearly had some measure of skill as a lover - a small but always welcome mercy when doing ‘alternative wet work’, as it had long been colloquially known amongst the Knights - but when he’d caught sight of Eggsy’s eyes once he’d placed his glasses on the nightstand to record the encounter, he’d been able to see just how fake the portrayed desire was. The breathy groans, though, the short noises of pleasure once Jensen was inside him? Those had been real. As had the series of low curses and hugely erotic, breathless moans that had escaped him with his orgasm. The only truly genuine expression on his face throughout had been in the moment he’d tensed and spilt across his own belly, eyes closed, brows drawn and mouth slightly open. Harry is mostly glad that he hadn’t been able to see his cock on screen in the throes of it, because it had enabled him to solely focus on the beautiful way he’d looked in minute detail.

It’s the moments just before that he focuses on as he slips his hand past his waistband and takes himself in a firm grip. He imagines it’s him in the mark’s place, that he’s the one fucking Eggsy to his orgasm, immediately stroking his cock to the quick, sharp rhythm he’s thrusting to in his reality based fantasy. Even with a somewhat unusually copious amount of precome slicked over his palm, it’s nowhere near wet enough to match up, far too dry, but he’s not willing to stop to reach for the lube in his bedside drawer. Instead, he imagines Eggsy clutching at him, remembers the way he’d hooked his heels against Jensen’s lower back and deliberately tilted his hips to hasten the other man’s end, all of it caught by the wide angle of the video feed. Harry knows how good that move would feel, being balls deep in a tight arse something he is intimately familiar with, and he quietly groans into the dark of his room. Picturing Eggsy beneath him, the other man’s climax just a few seconds away, he draws a knee up until his heel is planted in the mattress for leverage and unconsciously begins to work his hips. The dream had done most of the hard work, if you pardoned the pun, tell-tale pressure present in his balls as he strokes. If it takes anything even close to a minute more to come, it will be a surprise, not that he’s actually thinking about that. His actual thoughts are a blend of his own fantasy and the recording, mind twisting the sounds now permanently seared into his memory to make Eggsy curse and urgently murmur his name, right on the cusp.

_“Fuck, Harry,”_

_"That’s it, darling, just like that,”_

He’s already near enough panting, actively leaking down his shaft, and the room is filled with the slick sound of his fist and his heavy breathing. Grip changing to tug at just the sensitive head, he works his other hand beneath the fabric to cup his balls, rolling them firmly in his palm as he rapidly climbs towards the peak. There’s a familiar, welcome tightness forming somewhere between his scrotum and the base of his cock, and Harry has just enough presence of mind to push his pyjamas down to rest at the top of his thighs, out of range of the impending mess. That done, he returns his hand to his sac, tugging quickly at the firm spheres within and really fucking his fist in earnest.

“Christ, yes,  _Eggsy,”_ he murmurs, aching and desperate.

_“Come for me, Eggsy, come on my cock,”_ fantasy him urges roughly in his mind’s eye, rutting quick and deep.

His rhythm threatens to falter, the tightness in his groin increasing to become something almost overwhelming as his balls draw up in preparation for what promises to be a bloody good orgasm. Teetering right on the edge, in a split second he calls up the vision of Eggsy coming that had so thoroughly consumed him, lets it do so again. He’d been stunning to watch, momentarily stripped of fake motivation and simply embracing his body’s need. It had been nothing short of perfect if he ignored the circumstances, and the idea of witnessing it for himself, of that being for Harry, because of him...

“Oh,  _fuck_. Fuck, yes.  _Yes_  -“

For the briefest of moments the pressure turns almost unbearable. He urgently drags his fist down his length once more, and it’s as he brings it back up that he finds relief. With a short groan carried on a hitching gasp, Harry’s coming,  _coming_ , continuing to strip his cock as warm semen begins to blessedly stripe his abs. Eggsy is suddenly no longer at the forefront of his thoughts as his mind goes naturally blank for the duration, all he knows is that it’s good, feels extremely good as it radiates through his core in waves, the pleasure rolling through him for impossibly long seconds and the evidence of it staining his skin in several strong, wet pulses. Harry always experiences a short moment of feeling torn as the intensity of his climax begins to wane, part of him wanting the sensation to go on forever and another glad of the endorphin driven relief that comes with it passing. He’s found the compromise is to keep going until the quick pace of his fist becomes definitively too much, and he does just that, only slowing when his release is reduced to a final, weak pulse of come slowly trickling over his fingers and his toes are all but curling with over-sensitivity.

Head tipped back into his pillow, Harry finally sags into the mattress as he gently teases the very last drops of spend from his slit. He’s breathless and thoroughly sated, mind coming back online thought by thought as he shifts and settles, lowering his leg back down to the sheets to lie flat. Eggsy is his first rumination once he gets beyond several variations of ‘fuck, that was good’, and he rubs his thumb over the head of his rapidly softening cock, the move dragging a low noise and shudder from him. He’s no longer thinking about Eggsy from the video though. He’s thinking of the way he smiles, infectiously warm and bright, the way he regularly brings Harry cups of tea when he has the chance, even though he has a personal assistant whose job description explicitly includes the task. (It’s entirely irrational whimsy, and he knows it, but they always seem to taste so much better somehow). He thinks of how his laughter fills his living room on the unfortunately rare occasions their schedules allow them an evening together, and how his chest swells without fail at just the sight of him. The relief he experiences every time Eggsy returns to HQ safe and relatively unharmed is extraordinarily, inappropriately intense for Arthur towards one of his Knights, but Harry can no more control his feelings towards him than he can the seasons, and knows he would be a fool to even try.

Sleep begins to insistently tug at him as he sifts through the facets of his affection for the man in the warmth and dark, satisfied body not allowing him to drift towards the reasons he maintains the status quo, continuing to love Eggsy silently and from afar. Because he does love him, he knows, wholly and irrevocably in a way that terrifies him as much as it thrills him. The realisation had come in the middle of a weekly round table meeting, watching Eggsy trade cheeky barbs with Roxy over an upcoming mission, and the sudden recognition of the oft present, pleasant ache in his chest had left Harry somewhat stunned and struggling to concentrate for the remainder. Absently running a hand across his stomach as he recalls the moment he knew he’d fallen in love for the first time in his life, he’s abruptly also reminded that his satisfied body is still covered in an impressive amount of cool, now unpleasantly tacky come, and it grudgingly rouses him enough to reach out towards his nightstand with his clean hand. Thankfully, there’s just enough moonlight coming through the curtains to help him not have to blindly locate the box of tissues he keeps there. The clean-up itself is made more tricky by the lack of light, however, opting to use several to wipe across his skin from chest right down to balls in the hopes of successfully removing it all.

Harry unceremoniously dumps the used, balled tissues on the side when he thinks he’s done short of taking a shower, then tugs his pyjama bottoms back into place and draws the duvet up over his body. He habitually turns onto his right side, the post-orgasm lassitude working to have him rapidly sinking back towards slumber. The last thoughts he has as he falls back to sleep are of Eggsy, of being able to reach for what he so desperately wants that at times it physically hurts. He thinks of gentle kisses and holding hands, coming home to the man he loves waiting for him, all of it as much a fantasy as making love to him had just been. But his very last conscious thought is one that has been coming to him with increasing frequency of late. Whenever he looks at Eggsy and yearns for more, for _everything_ , all the while telling himself it can never be, there’s been a voice gradually growing louder in the back of his mind, and what started as a whisper weeks ago now speaks to him clearly.

_Why not?_


End file.
